The Many Deaths of St Olivia
by SnappyPatter
Summary: Olivia dies mulitiple times. For some reason.
1. By exposition

Disclaimer: All I own is a shiny new eight-pack of Guinness. Seven pack. Six pack…

Note: Catnamedzane's suggestion.

Summary: Olivia dies. Over and over and over and…is a character death warning needed here, or can I just go with it like the show does?

_Miss Piggy: Why are you telling me this?_

_Lady Holiday: It's plot exposition; it has to go somewhere._

Olivia peeked around the edge of the cold, gray building, gun drawn. Nothing moved in the street beyond – no people, no cars, no three-foot long sewer rats, nothing.

It was quiet. Too quiet. Especially for New York City in the middle of the afternoon.

She beckoned to her partner, who sidled up silently behind her. "Okay, Det. Elliot Stabler, it's all clear around the corner, so we're going to run up to the next alley and see if that's where our perp disappeared."

He glanced at her oddly before replying, "Whatever you say, Det. Olivia Benson."

"Is something bothering you?" she asked, reacting to the open hostility she perceived in his tone. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Uh, Liv, we're chasing an armed perp…"

"Well I know that. We _are_ detectives with the NYPD Manhattan Special Victims Unit." She paused to holster her gun. It didn't seem proper to discuss emotional issues with a gun in hand. She continued, "I just thought that you might be feeling a little sad or enraged, or acting enraged to cover up the fact that you're sad. You wife left you and took your children away, so I totally understand why you might be having trouble focusing on work."

Elliot did his best not to point out the irony (or stupidity?) of her last statement, and instead moved ahead of his partner, walking cautiously toward the alley. After ascertaining that there was no one there, he called back to her, "It looks like our perp gave us the slip. I'm gonna call for backup to do a search of the area."

As he dialed his phone, Olivia said, "Yeah, you should call our Captain, Donald Cragen, and see if he can send Det. John Munch and Det. Odafin 'Fin' Tutuola to assist us in catching Robert Miller, our main suspect in the rape and murder of Shelly Miller, his wife."

Elliot tried to ignore his partner's annoyingly obvious monologue. He'd noticed that, every so often, she would get into moods where she just said everything that everybody already knew. It was aggravating, but not something he could legitimately complain about. As he hung up the phone, something moved in his peripheral vision.

It was almost unnecessary to turn around, since Olivia was narrating the events as they happened. "Our perp, Robert Miller has just rounded the corner and he has a gun aimed at us, Det. Olivia Benson and Det. Elliot Stabler. He's squeezing the trigger and a bullet is flying from the end of the barrel and…ow!"

Elliot found it strange to be glad that his partner had been shot, but it _had_ shut her up. He fired his own weapon, but the perp ran away unharmed. Turning his attention back to Olivia, he tried to staunch the blood flow with pressure. "Elliot, I've…been shot. Blood pooling on pavement…consciousness hard to maintain…clothes stained. I'm…dying." She gave a few feeble wet coughs before expiring on the sidewalk…

And awakening with a start in the crib…


	2. By spellchecker

Inigo Montoya: You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.

The Hazards of the Spellchecker

Olivia ribbed her eyes as she awoke in the crib. She'd just had the strangest drama in which she had been descrying everything in a very anointing manner. She performed a cartful intersection of the room and found it empathy. She was glade that no one was there to see her nerviness.

She stood slowly from her cote, taking a monument to starch. She hopped that at some pint during the night, a good saurian had called with a type that could brake the rap case they were investing. It was an indelibly difficult one, and they'd had no luck finding witlessness or lads.

Defending the stairs to the squid room, Olivia saw that Munch had made coffin. She poured herself a steaming coup and glazed at her desk. The light indicting that she had a massage was flushing. She picked up the pone and heard the family beeps of a voice-male waiting to be hard. She agilely dialed her password and listed to the caller.

"This is Dr. Jones at the hostel. I'm calling in rigor to your Jane Doe case. Your victual died this morning, and never awoke from her karma to give any indentation. I've already called the moorage and your ME should have the body son. I'm sorry we couldn't salve her." The message ended obtusely and Olivia harangued her head. She was unset that they weren't going to be able to abstain any insulation directly from the vicar, but she was also a little dressed that the pore girl had died.

A vice sounded behind her, "You okay, Live?"

She tuned and saw that Elliot was sated at his desk. "Our victor died this mourning. I guess we won't be gutting anything from her."

Elliot shook his head in an exaction that Olivia sheared. It seemed like most of their cases were becoming unfavorable. They walked their figments to the bane, but there was always another rap, always another miter. She signed with crustacean. "Do you want to go candle the bloc again and see if we find any wilderness?"

"What other opiate do we have?" He put his coat on and waltzed to the door. Olivia flowed, placing her gun in its halter. She wasn't paying hurtful attendance when she went through the font door of the preface, because a woman suddenly pulled out a Beretta and fired her point-blank.

As Olivia tried to keep her eyes open, bleeding on the sidewalk, she realized that she probably would have been safe had the perp pulled out a barrette and fixed her ponytail.

Olivia drifted into unconsciousness in a strikingly similar way as she had in her dream. She only hoped she could wake up somewhere else this time…


	3. By Catholicism

_Serendipity: Leave it to the Catholics to destroy existence._

The Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch

As luck would have it, Olivia woke up at her desk, where she'd been bored to death rather than shot. She shook her head to clear it of the crazy dreams she'd been having, but wasn't able to shake it too much due to the air resistance on her wings. Only half-awake, she gazed at her unfinished paperwork with cloudy eyes. She hated all this behind-the-scenes work that didn't involve rescuing naïve coeds, cute little kids, and adorable puppies.

Suddenly, she heard someone clear his throat. Looking up, she saw that Elliot was seated at his desk, reading from a large, leather-bound tome of the type that libraries won't let average Joes touch, much less check out. She'd never seen him read before, and her curiosity was piqued. "Whatcha reading, El?"

"Oh, just something to pass the time until you woke up. You seem uneasy. Is something wrong?"

"I've just been having these odd dreams about dying lately." She wondered briefly if she could turn the conversation to a discussion about Elliot's deeply hidden feelings that she was entitled to know.

He continued before she could come up with an appropriate segue. "Perhaps you need some spiritual guidance." He hefted the volume he'd been reading it deposited it heavily on her desk. He opened the book to a marked passage. "Read this and you're guaranteed to feel better, as the Lord wills it."

She squinted at the yellowed page and read,

'The Lives of the Saints: Olivia of Padua

Though the exact year of her birth is unknown, scholars agree that Olivia was born sometime in the mid-fourteenth century in Italy. She was raised by her mother, a shepherdess whose fondness for Chianti made her a brutal slave driver. She forced young Olivia to work long hours in the fields and the house. On top of all the hard labor, Olivia was also cruelly beaten on a regular basis.

One night, Olivia forgot to salt the pasta water and her mother's wrath knew no bounds. As blow after blow fell, Olivia's own rage built. She struck out at her mother, leaving her bleeding on the floor as she ran from the hovel.

Olivia ran for hours, until she finally collapsed from exhaustion. As she lay panting on the side of the road, a man came along. He was a monk and his name was Brother Elliot. Taking pity on Olivia, he carried her to his simple dwelling and nursed her back to health. When she had fully recuperated, Olivia chose to stay with Brother Elliot, and they became partners in the holy fight against sin, protecting the roads and villages from all variety of miscreants.

Though Olivia felt closer to God than she ever had before, she also felt as if she were being tempted by Satan. Brother Elliot, with his dreamy good looks and winning personality, was becoming the object of her desire.

Alas, he was already married to the Church, and their love could never be. Rather than leave the fight for justice, Olivia repressed her desire and continued her good work with Brother Elliot.

Brother Elliot, however, began to feel the strain of his own conflicting emotions – his dedication to the Church and his devotion to the work he was doing with his partner. The local bishop had already sent him several letters stating that he had to spend more time at the monastery and less time with Olivia. One day, after saving another soul from sure damnation, he casually mentioned, "I think Cathy and I are having problems."

She smiled at his nickname for the Church. "What kind of problems?"

"Oh, just…problems. The bishop thinks we spend too much time working together out on the streets."

Olivia immediately became upset, thinking that her feelings for Elliot, though deeply hidden, had to be the cause of the trouble. She lashed out, "Are you blaming me?"

"No, I wouldn't do that!"

"Well, what am I supposed to think? You won't talk to me and you keep getting more and more out of control!"

Brother Elliot wasn't sure where her outburst had come from – sure he didn't meditate for five hours a day like he used to, but he was still the same man he'd always been. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Fine, treat me like garbage! I'm used to it!" Olivia ran from the hut, not watching where she was going. She slipped on a mossy rock and fell down a steep hill onto the jagged rocks below. She finally understood that God was punishing her for loving Elliot. As she lay dying, she prayed for forgiveness.

The bishop, of course, assumed that Brother Elliot had pushed Olivia to conceal their affair. Brother Elliot was executed with no trial, and Olivia's canonization was pushed through quickly to prevent a lawsuit from her drunk mother, who, as it turned out, was actually dead already.

Today, Olivia is known as the patron saint of chronic martyrs who can do no wrong and of not crying.'

As she read the last few lines of the story, Olivia passed out, smacking her head on the edge of her desk, again on her chair as she slid off it, and again on the anvil she kept under her desk for emergencies. No one was left in the squad room to hear her thunk against the floor…


	4. By promiscuity

A/N: Claiming that something is 'retar**d**ed' merely betrays a lack of political correctness; claiming that something is 'retar**t**ed,' as one reviewer has done, really speaks more to the obviously impeded intellectual capacity of said reviewer. If you're going to attempt to insult someone, at least have the common courtesy to do it properly.

_Magda's boyfriend: I was only boning you to get to Mary!_

Olivia awoke in her own bed, no longer confused about the difference between being dead and being asleep. She'd obviously been granted some superpower, probably as a result of her stellar police work, that allowed her to have immortality. Every time she died, she would simply wake up in an alternate situation and continue living until she died again. It was so simple – living until she died.

She sat up in bed and ran a hand through the ever-changing length of her hair. This was truly an awesome power, and she was willing to make it her priority to learn how to use it to her best advantage. She clicked on the lamp, searching for her colorful journal to cram with her deep thoughts, when she felt the mattress shift.

She glanced to her side and saw a breathing lump in the sheets. Her eyes widened in shock. She'd found a parallel universe where she was actually getting some? She knew she'd really hit the jackpot this time. She tentatively stretched a hand over and pulled back the sheet. "Elliot!"

"Uhgnnufgb." It was obvious he didn't want to be woken, but she persisted in poking his shoulder with her finely manicured yet impractical for police work nail. He eventually rolled over and mumbled, "Jesus, we've already done it twelve times tonight. You're gonna have to make me breakfast before I give it to you again."

Olivia marveled at Elliot's apparent virility and regretted that she'd been in another dreamlife while their torrid affair had been going on, but she managed to stammer, "Uh…well, then, how do you want your eggs?"

"Fertilized and inside you, of course," he replied with a grin. "You've probably got quadruplets cooking in there by now," he continued, poking her stomach.

She did feel oddly multiplied. Just as she was about to grab her instant pee-on-a-stick test to assess her status, the bedroom door burst open, revealing a disheveled Alex Cabot. "Olivia! How could you? I thought you loved me!"

Olivia gaped, wondering what kind of Witness Protection Program would allow its protectees to burst into former co-works midnight trysts, but said nothing. Elliot, on the other hand, sighed with exasperation. "Dammit, Alex, you know it's Monday, and I get to bang Olivia on Monday, Wednesday, Friday and every other Saturday. You wait your damn turn."

While Alex consulted her daily planner, Olivia had time to reflect on her good fortune. She had not one but two gorgeous lovers, and a schedule that made time for both of them. She thought, _I'm gonna stay alive here for a while_, as she glanced over at the bed to see Elliot and Alex tussling. "Calm down, you two. I've got plenty of love juices to go around!" she yelled.

With this statement, a tap sounded on the window behind her. A muffled voice called from the fire escape, "Oh Olivia, does that mean we can express our love too?" Olivia let the blinds drop, blocking Casey's eager face. Apparently this life wasn't all peaches and creaming.

She forgot the one-night-stand on the fire escape as she noticed that Alex was slipping into a purple strap-on and Elliot's turgid member was again fully engorged. Just before she could become the finishing touch in an ADA/partner sandwich, she heard a knock at the door. Swatting away the groping phalanges of her devoted paramours, she said, "I should get that. It could be a telegram!"

She bounced nudely to the door, throwing it open to the surprise of her new visitors. "Olivia!" was all Captain Cragen managed to say as he trust a bouquet of roses at her. Munch was at a total loss for words, allowing his jaw to scrape the floor of the hallway.

Olivia was shocked to find that she more flattered than embarrassed. "What are you two doing here?"

Munch began, "Oh, well, we were in the neighborhood…"

Cragen interrupted, "Filling our prescriptions for the little blue pills…"

"And we thought we'd stop by and see if you'd help us test them," Munch finished.

Olivia giggled like a schoolgirl. "Sorry boys, but I've got all I can handle at the moment."

The two men were visibly reduced as they trudged sadly away, but before Olivia could close the door, a foot wedged itself in the gap. "Dr. Huang?"

"Yes, I was just passing by and..." He took a moment to look her over. "You know, Freud had some very interesting theories about sex."

Olivia rolled her eyes, wanting to get back to the bedroom as quickly as possible without hurting the psychiatrist's feelings. "Such as?"

"Oh, something about mothers…penis envy…cigars…it's really not important. What is important is that I think I could help you work out your sexual inhibitions in a practical, safe and healthy manner, if you'll just allow me to step inside and remove my pants."

"I really don't think that's a good idea, Doctor."

"Oh, well I can leave my pants on and just unzip if that's…"

Olivia interrupted, "Look, this isn't a good time." His puppy-dog face prompted her to add, "You can go watch from the fire escape with Casey if you want."

He shook his head. "No, the line is already too long. I saw Fin go up with a video camera, though, so maybe he'll give me a copy…unless you change you mind about…"

Olivia slammed the door before he could finish. As she turned, the silver bracelet of one of her handcuffs clipped around her wrist. Naked Elliot grinned evilly. "Olivia Benson, you're under arrest for grand theft cardio. That means you stole my heart."

Naked Alex emerged from the bedroom. "Is she done with visitors yet? The crowd outside and I are getting impatient." Before they could adjourn to the bedroom, the three naked law enforcement officers heard a key click in the lock. It opened slowly, revealing…

"Trevor Langan?" Olivia gasped. "What are you doing here? How did you get a key? And why did you bring groceries?"

"Babe, what are you talking about I'm Peter. You husband, Peter. What the hell is going on here?"

All this was getting to be too much for Olivia. She shoved her way past the defense attorney into the hall, wanting to get away from all the nudity and adult situations in her apartment. Unfortunately, she slipped on a banana peel and careened down the stairs, snapping her neck and throwing her into…


	5. By plagiarism

Olivia opened her eyes and found herself sitting in the car on the way to a crime scene with Elliot. She decided to just go with whatever this reality was going to be. It couldn't be worse than her last awful dream. Jumping out of the car, she addressed ME Warner, "Whadda we got?"

"He was dead: to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that…as dead as a door-nail," she replied.

Olivia found the reply somewhat cryptic. "Right. And the cause of death?"

"It looks like he was suffocated, then dismembered and placed under the floorboards." Warner looked around wildly. "But I swear I can still hear the beating of his hideous heart!"

"Uh-huh." Olivia backed slowly away, searching for her partner. The pressure of the job seemed to be getting to Warner. Elliot suddenly appeared from a doorway, giving Olivia an escape route. "Did you get anything from the guy the uniforms picked up?"

He ushered her toward an office saying, "Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be satisfied."

"Are you feeling okay, El?"

He nodded serenely in response. Olivia decided to take point on the interrogation of the man now sitting before her. "What's your name?"

"Call me Ishmael."

"And what brought you here, Ishmael?"

"Some years ago – never mind how long precisely – having little or no money in my purse…" he began.

Olivia interrupted, "We don't really have time for your whale of a life story. Telling us why you were here tonight will be fine."

He rose abruptly, pulling a thin wooden stick from his sleeve and chanting some Latin-y sounding words. Olivia barely managed to dodge the blast of green light the issued from the tip of wand. The noise brought two uniforms in from the hall, and they managed to wrest the wand away from the suspect before he could kill Olivia and send her into another pointless chapter. Of her life, that is.

As they cuffed him and dragged him from the room, Dr. Huang entered, nodding sagely. "Happy families are all alike, but each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way."

Olivia sat on the floor, still trying to recover from her near-magical-death experience. She looked at him incredulously. "Is that your psychological assessment of our perp or something? Brilliant, really brilliant." She ignored his response, rudely pushing her way back to the car. Elliot followed, muttering vaguely about squeezing a camel through the eye of a needle. In the car, she asked, "Why is everybody talking so strangely?"

He shrugged, replying, "It is the voice of one crying in the wilderness."

All these meaningless statements, which sounded suspiciously like things she'd heard before, were very frustrating. Sure, they made the people who said them seem momentarily smarter, until you realized that they didn't mean anything. Olivia really didn't like this illusion of allusion. She tried what she hoped would be an innocuous question. "Looks like rain, doesn't it?"

"April is the cruelest month."

"Yeah. Sure it is." She didn't bother remarking that it was the middle of December.

As they arrived back at the precinct, she asked Munch if he wanted to get dinner, hoping he at least would provide some coherent conversation. He replied with, "I am a great eater of beef, but I fear it does harm to my wit."

Not wanting to live in a world where people referenced things not written in Vogue, Olivia abruptly hurled herself beneath a passing bus…the rest was silence. Or maybe a terrible beauty was born. Or an inappropriate reference to something read in a freshman English class was really to blame.

Olivia opened her eyes yet again to find…


End file.
